


Most Satisfying (Full Circle -- Proxima Station, June 2379)

by devovere



Series: Five Fantasies Plus... [6]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Awkwardness, Book: Full Circle - Kirsten Beyer, Clumsiness, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Sitting, Inspired by Novel, Love, Multiple Orgasms, Naked Cuddling, Oral Sex, Reality, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 07:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16593296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devovere/pseuds/devovere
Summary: Kathryn and Chakotay finally stop fantasizing and make memories of something real together. Draws heavily on the Proxima Station scene inFull Circle; spoilers for that book and light spoilers for earlier Relaunch novels.





	1. Say the Word

**Author's Note:**

> Warmest thanks to three generous beta-readers: [BlackVelvet42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/profile), [emmadelosnardos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadelosnardos/profile), and [Killermanatee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/profile). 
> 
> This first chapter is the one most closely tied to the book, telling the Proxima Station dinner scene from Kathryn's POV rather than (as the book does) Chakotay's. Accordingly, I use much of Beyer's dialogue almost verbatim; no infringement is intended.

I’ve made a decision. Chakotay doesn’t know it yet, but I do. At last, I know.

Tonight, at dinner, I’m finally going to ask him.

We’ve been home more than a year and a half. I never thought things between us could be so unclear at this point.

Maybe, if he hadn’t been dating Seven when we arrived—not that I had any claim on him, and not that he seemed particularly broken up about losing her, but … I have some pride.

Maybe, if we hadn’t had to deal with political suspicion and security threats right off the bat. We were pulled right into the thick of things. Still in command team mode.

Maybe, if they hadn’t given him _Voyager_. But he deserved it, and I would have hated to see anyone else in command of our beautiful ship.

And then just when our lives might have found their new normal, Admiral Batiste started campaigning to send _Voyager_ back to the Delta Quadrant. A three-year mission, minimum. I was determined to stop it, but if I hadn't succeeded, Chakotay would surely have felt obligated to lead it, as _Voyager_ ’s captain. Without me.

Starting something new together would have been selfish and irresponsible. Same song, different setting.

But now that the admiralty have nixed Batiste’s folly once and for all, we’re free. Yes, _Voyager_ is heading out on another months-long mission soon. Our work will always be pulling us away; we’ll always have separations. But Earth can be home base. And we can meet up when our paths cross out in the black. And—

Listen to me. Making plans. As if—

As if I’m sure he’ll say yes.

The reasons I haven’t asked before now are my own reasons. He may have different reasons.

He may be seeing someone—that Betazoid captain, or someone else he’s met out there. He may have moved on.

So be it. I can’t keep living with maybes and someday. My need to know has finally outweighed my need to dream.

And if he says no … if I’ve missed my chance …

Then I’ll need to learn to stop dreaming about him. It just wouldn’t be right. To keep using him that way. Not if there’s no hope.

I’d have to stop to preserve our friendship. You can’t fantasize like that about a friend, not so habitually. Especially if he’s with someone else.

So, I’m gambling both my hopes and my dreams on a chance at the real thing. Finally. After all these years. It’s rather terrifying.

But fear exists to be conquered, after all. This one’s time has finally come.

\-----

The food had been eaten, but we were still at the table, talking shop and finishing the wine. I’d had the most curious sensation in my chest ever since he admitted me to his quarters—my old quarters. A glow, a fizz like bubbles rising to the surface. Alight with a joy I hadn’t even claimed yet. It bolstered my determination.

He seemed the same as ever. If he had any idea that this dinner would be different, that _I_ was different, on the other side of this decision, he wasn’t showing it. Steady, quiet Chakotay, warm eyes and a flash of dimples now and then.

I finally turned the conversation to the personal. If he was seeing someone, I’d back off. Nothing would persuade me to risk his happiness for my own desires, after seven years of holding him at arm’s length for the good of the mission.

But he was unattached. And it seemed there was no story to tell about Captain Leona, for before I could think about masking my relief with friendly sympathy, he was asking me about Jeremy Harlowe. I’d almost forgotten that I’d told Chakotay we’d had lunch a few times.

He asked me so casually if I had my eye on anyone else that I didn’t think twice about giving a simple answer.

“Not really.” I knew I had a little smile on my face, but I couldn’t look at him. This was happening. Our way was clear. Now, to just find the words to—to tell him—to _ask_ him—

“Good,” he said. Just like that. _You’re alone, good. I’m glad you’re not in love with anyone._

I stared at him. Could he mean—? Was I reading too much into a single word?

“Why good?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

He looked at me, and I looked back at him, The moment stretched out between us until his unwillingness to explain his comment began to dissolve my confidence. What were we doing? What was I thinking, risking everything Chakotay already was to me?

I couldn’t find words to change the subject, to laugh away the moment, but I also couldn’t bear his scrutiny. I looked down, fidgeting with my table setting like a nervous teenager, a growing sense of dismay keeping my tongue seemingly glued to the roof of my mouth. Were we going to let this moment pass us by, as we had so many times before? My anxiety increased.

His hand covered mine, holding it around the stem of my wine glass. The spark of our contact stilled me, the familiar pull between us closing my eyes with pleasure, with wanting.

I had to know. Even if it cost me everything, I had to know.

I looked up at him, barely breathing. “You know, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“What’s that?” He swallowed but held my gaze.

Different phrases rolled around in my brain, all of them boiling down to a question too stark, too freighted, to voice: _Do you still want me?_

Instead of asking a question, I made an observation, dredging up a memory I was sure he shared even though we’d never mentioned it to one another.

“We’ve been home for over a year and a half, and never once in that time have you offered to take me to Venice.”

His face told me instantly that he remembered, but also that he was wary of revisiting our dance on the holodeck, that promise between us. My heart plummeted. _Oh, please. Please don’t lock the door before we’ve even opened it._

He looked down at his hand, holding mine, and my eyes followed, watching his thumb caress my fingers. “I didn’t think you wanted me to, Kathryn.” His next words belied his tender touch. “To be honest, I always hoped my feelings would change. I tried to make them change.”

Inconclusive enough to let me keep hoping. “And have you succeeded?”

“Of course not.” As if he’d assumed I’d always known. Perhaps I had. Then he asked, “Have you?”

Too big for words. I’d never tried to change how I felt about him. Never wanted to. I wondered how the hell I’d manage it now, if he said no. I shook my head, slowly.

“Then why didn’t you say something?” he demanded.

I thought of Batiste. Of _Voyager_. Of Seven. And then I lied. “I don’t know. The right time just never seemed to appear. All I know is—” My voice trembled, and I took a breath. “I don’t want to be alone the rest of my life.”

“All you ever had to do was say the word, Kathryn.”

His tone was still somehow noncommittal. I couldn’t tell if he was chiding me for not speaking up sooner or telling me that it was too late, that I’d lost my chance.

I swallowed my pride. “I thought I just did,” I said with a calm I did not feel.

And there it was. Ball in his court.

Even as he hesitated, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I vaguely wondered to what extent the burden I’d carried for seven years in the Delta Quadrant had been made heavier by this secret, the longing for this man that I had suppressed so ruthlessly.

He held my heart in his hands, and he might be about to hand it back to me, but I knew now that I wouldn’t regret asking.

I saw the moment he accepted what I was offering. Embraced it. A tension left his brow, and his whole body seemed to soften into a bashful, hopeful openness. He stammered, “Then how do you, I mean …” as he blushed, face filling with joy and anticipation.

Relief flooded my body. His smile was contagious. I felt my own spread with pure pleasure.

I hadn’t lost him, after all. This could be a beginning for us, not an ending. We could make plans for a future together.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “You have that Yaris Nebula mission. When you get back next year, assuming nothing has changed for either of us … we’ll meet in Venice.”

He bit his lip, considering. Then he stood, still holding my hand, and walked to stand beside my chair. I stood up to face him. Gazing deeply into my eyes, he said, “Ten months is a long time, Kathryn.” He removed his comm badge and placed it with deliberation on the table. Then he slowly pulled the comb from my neatly-twisted bun, and as my hair fell around my shoulders, open need filled his face. “I’ve let you go too many times already. Please don’t ask me to do it again.“

He had a point, and I was certainly not averse. Terrified, elated, shockingly unprepared to actually take the step I knew I wanted above all else, yes—but not at all averse. Without looking away from him, I unpinned my badge and tossed it next to his. “Come to think of it—”

He cut me off with a kiss.

_Oh!_

Oh....

His breath on my face. Our noses touching, bumping. _His lips,_ the feel of them?

This wasn’t just another fantasy. This was real.

_This was really happening._


	2. Something Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here begins smut. Read those tags if you're not sure you want to see that.

A moment later, my arms were around Chakotay’s neck, and he was nuzzling my ear, murmuring my name between kisses, the fingers of one hand running through my hair while his other hand pressed me close against him in the middle of my back.

I gasped and came afire, blazing with need and triumph, intent on burning to ash everything we had ever allowed to hold us apart. My fingers clutched at his short-cropped hair as I maneuvered his lips to the hollow of my throat, arching against him so that my breasts rubbed provocatively against his chest. His upper hand moved to the small of my back, supporting my weight and drawing me to straddle his thigh.

Panting, I pulled his head up and our mouths came together in a hungry, demanding kiss. He bent me even further back, transferring more of my weight to his hands and to my crotch atop his firm thigh. The raw pleasure and intensity of it all made my head swim, exulting, soaring with sensation and joy.

This was perfect. _He_ was perfect; we were perfect together.

I'd always known we would be.

I cried out, shuddering, and then something in our balance tipped a fraction too far, and I was clinging to his neck and shifting my feet on the deck, seeking better purchase. The heel of one boot made contact with his instep, hard.

He was in stocking feet.

“Ahh!” he gasped, jerking up and back and inadvertently pulling me with him. Our foreheads collided, and my next cry was decidedly pained.

He released me and stumbled back a step. I was left standing, one hand on my head where we had just knocked skulls, the other over my mouth in dismay. This had gone wrong so quickly. My cheeks flamed with humiliation.

“Kathryn, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“Of course not,” I insisted. “But your poor foot! Are you all right?” I kept my eyes fixed on the floor.

He stepped back to me and touched my hair. “I’m fine.”

I still couldn’t meet his eyes. “I can’t believe I was so clumsy.”

“You weren’t.” His voice was warm and sweet. “We got a little carried away, I think.”

I leaned forward and frankly hid my face against his shoulder. His arms came around me, hugging me to him, warm and undemanding.

“I’ve ruined everything,” I said into his chest, numb with disbelief. “After all this time.” I felt him inhale deeply, his torso expanding, and then he let out a long sigh.

“Ssshhh,” he soothed. “You didn’t. And nothing is ruined. Let’s just take a minute, okay?”

I nodded without speaking. We stood like that, my face buried in his uniform jacket. At a loss, I thought about leaving to spare us both further embarrassment but didn't want him to let me go. After a while, he started swaying a little, gently bringing me with him, side to side. Gradually the heat left my cheeks and my shoulders relaxed into his embrace. I brought my arms around his broad chest and turned my head to rest one side of it against him.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “I’m okay now.”

He smiled down at me, then drew my arms away. He gently clasped one of my wrists, placed a kiss on my brow, and slowly began to lead me towards the bedroom.

In the doorway, he felt my steps drag and turned to me. “Have you changed your mind?” he asked. There was a tension in his face and voice that tore at my heart.

“No,” I breathed. “No, I want this. So badly. But I’m so nervous now.”

His fingers were solid in my palm, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand. “Nervous that I’ll hurt you?”

“Never.” I needed him to believe me. “I trust you completely. You know I always have.”

“Then what?”

The words stuck in my throat. “I—we—.” He waited. “Years and years of—We’ve waited so long.” I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “It’s _been_ so long. For me. What if—I’ve forgotten how, or—”

Chakotay’s face was suddenly wreathed in a smile. “Kathryn. Isn’t performance anxiety supposed to be _my_ concern?”

A laughing exhale came from my chest, but I said, “I’m serious. Ever since New Earth. Before that. What if reality doesn’t measure up to the fantasies?”

In a perfectly serious tone, he said, “I hope it doesn’t.” He reached a thumb to my brow, as if to smooth away the surprised expression it bore. “I’ve been dreaming of making love to you for almost a decade, Kathryn. After tonight, for the months I’ll have to spend without you, I don’t want more dreams. I want memories of something real.”

Hearing that, I truly was incapable of speech. I only nodded, and then I was kissing him, kissing him senseless and laughing as we stumbled to the bed. I bent and pulled off my boots while he knelt behind me, mouth at my nape, hands undoing my belt and opening my jacket. I shrugged it off as I twisted to kneel before him, frantic now to feel him under my hands.

We made short work of his jacket and both our shirts. Then he was bare from the waist up, and I was in my bra. He pulled me to lie down facing him. I couldn’t stop running my hands over all the skin before me, chest and shoulders and arms, so smooth and warm, so broad and firm. No wonder he’d felt like an immovable wall at my back all those years. I felt small and delicate next to him, the more so as his fingers lightly traced the length of my arm from wrist to shoulder, collarbone to sternum, ribs to waist. His hand settled there, large and secure, grounding me as he leaned in to kiss me again.

This time his tongue found its way to mine, probing, sweeping. His lower hand snaked under my head and he gripped the back of my skull, holding my head in place as he kissed me passionately, on and on. I heard myself moaning, and the sound seemed to drive him wild for a moment.

“Kathryn,” he gasped, breaking our voracious mouths apart. He licked my jawline—actually _licked_ it, like he might devour me next—and then attacked my mouth again. My own hands were behind his head and neck, clinging to him, riding this moment’s crest of intensity.

The wave broke. He clutched me to him, both of us breathing hard. I felt as though I’d run a mile. Our lower bodies were barely touching as yet, though when he brushed against me, I felt him hard against my hip.

His hand had moved from my waist to the space between my shoulder blades, fingers running under the band of my bra. He murmured against my temple, damp with sweat. “Can I take it off?”

“Please,” I rasped. I leaned over then, rolling him onto his back, and together we pulled me atop him, chest to chest, my knees straddling his hips. His pelvis rolled gently against mine and then I could really feel the hard bulge of his cock between my legs through both our uniforms. I moaned again and pressed my face into his shoulder, suddenly insecure about the intensity of my response to him, feeling vulnerable and more naked than I even was so far. .

“Don’t hide. Not from me, not now. Please.” His hands were still fumbling with the clasp of my bra. He got it loose and tugged the straps off my shoulders. “Please, Kathryn. Please let me see you.” But he made no move to compel me, only stroking my bare shoulders and back.

I kissed the skin on which my mouth was resting and with my eyes closed kissed my way to his throat and then up it to his strong chin, his delectable lips. I knew them from nearly constant visual study in the Delta Quadrant. Tracing their outline with my tongue, I learned them anew. Then with my palms on his broad chest I was lifting my torso above his, kissing his mouth, moaning into it as his hands slid around my ribs to find my bare breasts. He shuddered beneath me, and my moans turned to whimpers.

He pushed then, compelling me to break the kiss. “Please, Kathryn, you’re making me crazy. Let me see you. Let me see you.”

I opened my eyes.

His mouth was swollen, lips parted and flushed. When I met his hooded eyes, he half smiled. My bra fell away as I raised myself to sit atop him, and then I brought my hands to cover his on my breasts, suddenly self-conscious of their natural sag, a sign of my age. He tried to tug our hands away, but I held tight another moment, still caught between shyness and desire.

His half smile slowly became a devilish grin. Looking only at my face, never breaking eye contact, he began to fondle my breasts, almost daring me to let my own hands follow his as they pressed and squeezed, stroked and rolled sensitive flesh, and to rock his hips under me in a steady and devastating rhythm.

The stimulation of nipples and core sent me hurtling skyward, reluctance forgotten. I closed my eyes, grinding down with my pelvis, seeking more, feeling moisture soaking through my crotch under the pressure of his erection placed _just so_. Before I knew it, his hands were on my hips, and mine were in my hair, elbows raised as I arched back in pleasure.

“So beautiful,” he groaned.

I looked at his face again and found him open-mouthed, staring frankly at my breasts as I writhed.

A small peak took me unexpectedly and I froze, shuddering.

“Kathryn,” he gasped. “Yes. Yes.” And then he gripped me more firmly, driving himself against me harder, faster, as sensation held me rigid in its grasp for a long moment.

I collapsed forward on his chest again, panting, half-sobbing. “I didn’t know. I didn’t—”

He tried to hold me, but it seemed he couldn’t restrain himself from touching me, kissing me. His hands went from hip to shoulder, tangled in my hair, then smoothed along my skin and over the waistband of my trousers.

I was just catching my breath, when he muttered, “I can’t—I need—“ and then suddenly he pressed me to him and rolled us over. Another fervent kiss of lips and tongue and shared breath, and then his mouth left mine to draw in a nipple, sucking in quick pulsing rhythm, making me squirm and melt and soar. I was sensitive everywhere, craving his touch tenfold, as if one climax had only stoked the flames.

He shifted to my other breast, taking more time to savor it. The wetness he’d left on the first one cooled quickly in the cabin’s air on my heated flesh. I began to whimper urgently, seeking him again with my core.

“Enough,” I commanded. “Now.” I reached between our torsos for his waistband, tugging and fumbling. When he realized my aim, he was quick to comply, rolling away to divest himself of the rest of his clothing while I dealt with mine.

He returned to me but kept his weight to the side, with one knee between mine. I tried to pull him onto me fully, but he resisted, saying, “I want to make sure this is good for you.” Then he was making love to me again with his mouth and one hand, moving over my body with careful deliberation. His bare thigh brushed my curls, my legs opened, and I found myself again pressed helplessly to a broad, firm part of him, desperately seeking more.

“Please,” I begged, tugging shamelessly on his wrist, hurrying him along.

_At last_. A finger where his leg had been, reaching what it couldn’t. I gave a shuddering, moaning sigh as he stroked through my folds, probing, _finding_...

“Fuck,” he grunted. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“Please—”

“You first. I want—“ but this time he didn’t resist as I maneuvered our lower bodies together.

“Yes,” I panted, burning, opening.

He sank into me and all at once it was too much, he was too large, too deep. I went stiff, biting my lip, head turned away from him.

He withdrew.

“Too fast?” he asked.

I realized I wasn’t breathing and began to pant again. I had my fist pressed to my mouth. I couldn’t look at him.

He stroked my hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I shook my head, furious with myself. “Not your fault,” I choked out. “Mine. I rushed you.” I felt stupid, like an inexperienced girl playing at womanhood. Ridiculous.

“No…” he soothed. He shifted again to the side, taking his weight off his elbows and knees, no longer covering me.

I felt exposed, inadequate. I was suddenly afraid he would stop, before I'd had the chance to let him, at least, take the pleasure I longed to give him.

I turned toward him, reaching for his cock. When my hand touched it, sticky with my fluids, still hard, he twitched under my touch. “OK?” I asked, looking up at his face.

His eyes were closed, face in a grimace of need. He nodded. “I should say no, but—“

“Let me do this.” I stroked him a few times, base to tip, and then ran my thumb gently over his slit, where it peeked out from his foreskin.

He groaned with pleasure. I liked hearing it. “Help me,” I said. “Show me.”

He lay on his back and tugged my shoulder, guiding me to lie next to him, my head on his chest, my left hand still lightly grasping his cock. With one arm he hugged me to him and kissed the crown of my head, breathing in the scent of my hair. His other hand covered mine on his shaft, showing me how to touch him, what pressure and rhythm gave him pleasure.

The sight fascinated me. Looking down his torso I saw the slight curve of his belly, the dark hair of his groin, and standing up from that his proud cock, our two hands wrapped around it and each other, rubbing up and down in hypnotic repetition. His breath came short under my ear, and as he settled into the experience, more of him moved, flexing and twitching with sensation.

He felt so good in my hand, thick and solid, smooth skin sliding over turgid potency. His glans emerged more fully from his foreskin, dark and glistening. A drop of cum gathered at the tip as I watched, and then I wanted nothing more than to know his taste, to take him into my mouth.

I let go, dislodged his embrace, and sat up. I looked back at him. He lay still, open and waiting under my gaze, hand resting in the crease of his hip. The hand that had held me to his chest now traced the length of my spine, from tailbone to neck, fingers sliding again into my hair to wrap themselves against my skull.

The slightest pressure from those same fingers told me he wanted it too.


	3. Take What You Need

I licked my lips. I was nervous. I hadn’t done this for so long, hadn’t even fantasized about it much. I tried to recall what Mark had liked, but quickly decided that was the wrong approach, to suck one man’s cock while thinking about another’s. 

I bent forward until my hands were on Chakotay’s upper thighs and my breasts brushed his stomach. He sighed and moved his hand from my head back down my spine, stroking what he could reach. 

I wanted to taste him. I let my tongue just touch his tip, where fluid seeped. He twitched. Salt and musk—I’d forgotten this, how it turned me on and made me feel powerful, confident. I opened my mouth wider and then closed it around the entire head of his cock. 

He instantly jerked and made a startled sound, and then he was tugging a shoulder to pull me off. “Wait,” he said. “Too much.” He reached down and stretched his foreskin back over his glans. It still didn’t cover it completely, but he lay back. “Again? Please.” 

I was too delighted that he was letting me do this—helping me make him feel good—to worry that I’d already messed up. I bent again and took in a comfortable mouthful. That intense and distinctive taste of him landed further back in my throat now. What my tongue and lips felt was less smooth but more malleable. I felt I could play with him like this, experiment a bit. 

I let go of him and moved onto my knees, still at his side, and then continued my explorations. He moaned his gratitude, and I realized he’d feared I wouldn’t continue. 

I grasped the base of his cock in one fist and began the same rhythmic stroking he had just taught me, augmenting it with the bobbing of my head, the suction and milking motions of my tongue. 

He said words I didn’t understand—our communicators were in the other room—and then his hands were on me too, one caressing my shoulder and arm, the other stroking my ass and thighs. 

When his fingers brushed my sex, I hummed around him and pushed myself back towards his touch. His next pass was along my folds, and then he found his way deeper, and deeper still. 

I was in heaven, overflowing with sensation at both ends of my body. As he matched inside me the rhythm of my head and fist, his hips picked it up too, moving himself gently back and forth within my mouth. I let my hand move from his cock to his balls, his taint, caressing everything that had until now been hidden from me, relishing that I could. 

He had two fingers inside me now, and then his thumb found my clit and everything happened very quickly after that. My mouth lost its rhythm, falling open around his thrusting cock, letting him move as freely as he wished. The lower half of my body surged back onto his hand, driving him deeper into me and grinding, gyrating, as his fingers scissored within me and his thumb found  _ just _ the point, just the pattern I needed to start ascending toward climax. I was panting and crying out with every exhale. 

Then suddenly his other hand was pulling at my arm. “Kathryn,” he muttered. “I won’t last.” It didn’t register. It all felt too good. He stopped moving, hips and cock and fingers, and I heard him whimper. “Please,” he moaned. “I’ll come. I’ll come.” Warning or promise; was he begging me to stop or to keep going? Nothing was clear except that he was on the verge of ecstasy, and all I wanted to do was push him over the edge. I clenched my inner muscles around his fingers, milking them, and began again to suck and slide with vigor on his cock. 

“Oh, fuck it,” he said loudly, surrendering. For just a moment his free hand fisted my hair, holding me still, and he made three quick thrusts that hit the back of my throat before, bellowing, he started spurting into my mouth, arms flung wide, hips arching almost off the bed as he poured himself out for me. 

I tried to keep up, swallowing, but couldn’t manage it. I released him, panting, semen dripping down my chin. More cum squirted from the glistening tip of his swollen cock; I brought a hand around him to finish the job. He cried out again, sounding a bit strangled this time, and I turned to face him as he grasped my hand, holding it in place. 

His face was flushed a deep red, with beads of sweat on his brow, furrowed by a grimace that also tensed the muscles around his eyes. His mouth told the rest of the story, though—jaw slack, lips full and relaxed. As I watched, he started to smile at me. 

I licked my lips clean of him and wiped my mouth and chin with the back of my hand. His mouth fell open again, and the rest of his face went blank, entranced at the sight of me cleaning his cum from my face. 

“Kathryn,” he said, in a tone of amazement. In slow motion, he raised a hand to my face and drew his thumb along the corner of my mouth. It came away glistening. “Kathryn.” We gazed at each other another moment. “Am I dreaming?” His voice was still filled with wonder. 

Smiling now myself, I reached for his other hand, which rested on my thigh. I tapped the back of his hand three times, with firm deliberation, and watched for his reaction. He blinked, still dazed with euphoria, and then it registered—the lucid dreaming technique he had taught the crew in one of our many encounters with a bizarre alien threat. He smirked at me, then made a show of looking around the bedroom. 

“No moon,” he observed. 

In reply I swiveled on my knees and wiggled my bare ass in his direction. 

He guffawed, startled, and then smacked my left cheek with the palm of his hand. “Ooh!” I yelped, and then he caressed the same spot. 

Before I could move away, his other arm came around my waist and pulled me back to lie against him. We were both laughing. I turned to face him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and smiled at him, thoroughly pleased with myself for the first time that evening. 

He kissed me, stroking my hair back from my face. His motions were languid, heavy with post-orgasmic relaxation. I quivered, though, still alive with heightened arousal. 

When his tongue reached mine, he hummed and pulled me even closer. After another minute, he ended the kiss, then looked at me seriously. “Do you have any idea how it feels to taste myself in your mouth?” His thumb moved with tender intimacy over my lips. 

My tongue darted out and licked the tip of his thumb. With a glint in my eye, I said suggestively, “No, but I sure would like to find out.” 

He stared at me another moment, then reared back laughing again. 

When we calmed, he smiled at me a moment. “Greedy girl, aren’t you?” 

The grin died on my face. I remembered a long-ago boy, sneering when I’d asked for my own pleasure. I knew better now. Was Chakotay that sort after all?

Seeing my expression change, he was instantly regretful. “I didn’t mean—no, please, don’t look like that. Kathryn.” 

“I—OK. It’s fine.” 

“It’s not. I shouldn’t have said that. I thought—“

“What?” I was actually curious. 

“Well. I’m out of commission for a while myself now. I guess I figured you would be too.” 

“Oh. But—I didn’t—“ 

He looked puzzled, then chagrined. “I’m sorry. I thought we’d finished together there.” 

“Not quite. I was getting there, but—“ 

Without saying any more, he was pulling me on top of him and guiding me onto my knees. I was confused—he'd just said he needed time to recover—but then he was pulling me towards his head, until he had my ass in both hands, my knees spread wide. 

“I—I’ve never—.“ Being on top for this felt strange.

“Shhh,” he murmured. His breath was warm against my mound. “Lean forward and hold on.” 

My hands gripped the headboard as his tongue parted my folds and took a long, slow taste. I shuddered, holding myself rigid above him. 

“Let go,” he said. “I’ve got you.” 

“But—your breathing.” 

He chuckled. “I’ve got that too.” He pushed two fingers inside me, and I couldn’t help grinding down in pleasure, moaning. 

His lips gathered my clit between them for his tongue to worry, sucking, and I completely lost control. Within moments I was not only shrieking my pleasure while I writhed on his thrusting fingers, I even had one hand in his hair, clutching him to my core. I felt selfish and shameless and absolutely glorious as I came hard and long on his face. 

His mouth released my flesh, his head tipping back despite my grip on it. He was breathing almost as hard as I was. 

“Fuck!” I said, looking down at him and trembling. I could form no other words. 

His fingers started to scissor slowly within me. My head rolled back on my neck as my cries mounted again in astonishingly urgent need. 

“Lie down, Kathryn.” He spoke in a calm, commanding tone, and I complied without hesitation, lifting a knee over him and stretching out on my back beside him. His fingers slipped out as I turned but his hand never left me. Then he was up on his other elbow, giving him leverage to fuck me hard and deep with his fingers, his whole arm sawing back and forth. 

Without thinking I started rubbing my clit. My eyes were closed but I heard him praise me. “That’s right, my love. Take what you need. Let me watch you come this time. 

He shifted his body slightly to reach one breast. As he began to twist and roll the nipple, he stopped thrusting into me and instead curled both fingers against my front wall, massaging a spot that short-circuited my brain. The pinky finger of his other hand pressed against my anus. I arched, stretching both arms above my head. His thumb at once found my clit again. 

I stopped breathing, ecstasy rolling through me in wave upon wave as my hands fisted the bedclothes and my hips arched up, up, up. My voice came in sobs as I began again to pant. His hand slowly stilled but did not leave me until my orgasm had passed off and my body lay limp beside him. Then I turned toward him, dazed and grateful, and he gathered me into his arms and held me close against him. 


	4. We Have to Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you strongly prefer to ignore that C/7 ever happened, you may want to skip this chapter.

We said little. The moment was too tender, too _much_ for any of the paltry half-formed phrases my endorphin-blitzed brain was producing. Chakotay murmured my name, stroking my back, and my body trembled, passion cooling, heart as open as it had ever been.

After a time, he whispered, “How long can you stay tonight?” I sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish—.”

“I know,” I said quietly, and reached up to trace his lips with a finger. “It’s okay. At least until midnight. My aide will notify me an hour before departure, whenever the station schedules it.”

“We have time, then. It’s only 2100 hours now.”

I smiled up at him. “Time for what?” Was he propositioning me again already?

His expression grew more tender. “For anything we like. Just being together.” His hand moved from my back to my arm and must have found it chilled, for he sat up to pull the blankets over us.

I snuggled into the covers and reached for him again, but he slipped out of bed.

“Hold that thought,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” As he strolled from the bedroom, I drowsily admired the view, his naked form solid and balanced, muscles flowing under his skin, not a motion wasted.

I must have dozed, because I missed his return. When I opened my eyes, he was sliding under the covers to join me again in bed.

“Water?” he asked, when he saw me smiling at him.

I propped myself on an elbow. “Please,” I husked. My vocal cords had gotten a workout along with certain other parts.

He handed me a glass from the bedside table and pointed out, “I brought our comm badges in too, so you won’t miss that call from your aide.”

I drained the glass as he lay down. “You still think of everything for me,” I observed with gratitude.

“A hard habit to break,” he replied, smiling.

I leaned across him to return the glass to the table, and my breasts brushed his chest. He caught my upper arms, keeping my torso above his. Our eyes met.

“I love you.” He spoke the words simply, no preamble or hesitation, in such an ordinary tone that I heard in them not a declaration in the wake of our new intimacy but, rather, seven years’ worth of attentive care. Daily, mundane tasks performed in service not just of our shared mission but of my own well-being.

I pressed my lips together, vision swimming. “I know.” My voice shook. “I always knew, Chakotay. Even when—.” My throat closed, remembering.

His face, to my dismay, clouded over with a look of pained regret. Before I could ask what was wrong, he finished my sentence. “Even when I was with Seven.”

I flinched, and he released me. I sat up, turning away and pulling the sheet to cover my breasts. “No,” I managed. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

An uncomfortable silence arose between us. He broke it first, his voice tight and cautious. “What were you going to say?”

I waited until I was sure I could control my voice. “Even when I was determined to be unlovable.”

He seemed to ponder that comment. I listened to our breathing and the various subdued hums of a ship in dock.

Finally he said, “The Void?” I knew we were both recalling the long weeks I’d spent locked in my quarters, refusing to perform my duties and rebuffing his every overture with harsh disdain.

“For starters,” I replied with bitter regret. “But that only heads up the list of times nobody could have blamed you for giving up on me.” I turned then to look at him squarely. “I wouldn’t have survived without you.”

He sat up then, too. “You saved my life at least as often as I saved yours. We all depended on each other.”

I shook my head. “That’s not what I mean.” I wanted to touch him, wanted to make him understand without the words I was struggling to string together. Finally I just gestured toward the blankets, the bedside table. “Like this. Caring for me when I wouldn’t care for myself.”

“It was my job—” he started.

“It was more,” I insisted. “I’ve had other first officers, Chakotay. None of them—.” I was shaking my head. “Cavitt was a good officer. But with him in the second chair, without you—.” I bit my lip. “Don’t you see? Competence alone wouldn’t have kept me together. I needed—.” Words failed me again. I gestured from his chest to mine and back again.

He seized my hand then, kissed my fingers, drew my palm to cup his cheek. He too seemed to struggle for words. Finally he fell back on ones he’d said before. “You are my peace.”

I nodded, smiling again past the lump in my throat. “Because you love me. And you’ve always shown me. In so many ways.” I cradled his face between my two hands and then leaned to kiss him lightly on the lips. “And Chakotay, oh how I lo—.”

He stopped me with his fingers on my lips. “Wait.”

I drew back, rebuffed, blinking with shock. “Did I say something wrong?”

His face was stern. I felt alarm grow in the pit of my stomach. He brought my hands away from his face and held them in his lap. He took a deep breath.

“Kathryn. We have to talk about Seven.” His voice and gaze were steady, determined.

Anger flared, and I pulled my hands away. “Why? Why would you bring her up _now_ of all times?”

“Because I _haven’t_ always shown you love, and we both know it. Because we shouldn’t discuss it over subspace calls or put it off until I’m back. And because you flinched when I mentioned her earlier.”

I crossed my arms in front of me, knowing how defensive that body language was but unable to project anything else. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

I looked down, stymied by a question that I knew was very simple.

He probed. “When did you find out we were dating?”

I glanced up at him in surprise. He’d just acknowledged that he hadn’t told me himself, with everything that implied about … us, and them, and the last months of our journey. We were doing this. I took a deep breath.

“Admiral Janeway said something,” I said slowly. “About the future, in her timeline.” His expression didn’t change. “But I didn’t know for sure until—.” I had to look away because the memory was too painful. “The bridge.”

I felt him wince; he knew when I meant: our arrival in this quadrant, my crowning achievement blighted by his betrayal.

My voice roughened. “You stood next to her.”

“Instead of by you.” He completed what I had left unsaid, his tone merciless, unflinching.

I nodded. “I had no claim on you,” I said more calmly than I felt. “No right to feel—.”

“Bullshit, Kathryn.” His tone was still relentlessly even. He didn’t speak with rancor or frustration, but he wasn’t letting either of us sidestep any part of this conversation.

I looked at him squarely again, knowing pain was written all over my face. His eyes filled with tears, but he didn’t look away.

“Fine,” I ground out. “You want to hear how I felt. Abandoned. Furious. Deeply, deeply wounded. It soured the triumph of bringing my ship home. And ... it was a blow to my vanity.”

That last comment actually seemed to puzzle him. “What do you mean?”

“Time marches on,” I clipped out mockingly. “And it took with it my youth. My … beauty, my sex appeal.”

He put his head in his hands. “Kathryn…”

“Please don’t pretend that I can even begin to compare to Seven in that department.”

“You think I took up with Seven because of her _looks_.”

“Because mine were fading, to be precise.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kathryn.”

“It was her charming personality, I suppose? She always annoyed you! Once you got past wanting to space her.”

He was shaking his head. “I’m an idiot.”

I couldn’t help laughing at that, and though it sounded more bitter than amused, it broke some tension.“By all means, Chakotay. Let’s hear more about you being an idiot. Your turn to talk.” I lay down on my side, the sheet tucked firmly around me, head propped on my elbow.

He sighed and lay down on his back, seeming to collect his thoughts. He said to the ceiling, “Seven never crossed my mind that way until she asked me out. Her interest in me was flattering. I knew I was too old for her, but there didn’t seem to be any harm in a few dates.”

“I didn’t think you even liked her as a friend. A little flattery was all it took to interest you?”

“She had gained my respect long before then. And somehow I didn’t think of it as the start of a relationship—more as an experiment in moving on.”  

“You said this evening you wanted your feelings for me to change.”

He looked at me sidelong. “I thought I did. Waiting had come to seem hopeless. I knew I should be dating if I didn’t want to be alone forever, but … “ He shook his head. “I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to initiate anything. And with everyone else on board, of course rank was going to be an issue. And then she asked me out, so matter-of-factly, it was easy to just say yes.”

“That first date must have gone better than you’d expected,” I commented drily. I was actually growing more curious as he told his story. I could see his point of view, and I had to admit that I’d always hoped Seven would grow enough to want more intimate relationships in her life.

He looked over at me sharply. “You’re asking for details?”

I held up a hand. “Nothing too personal. Just help me understand how something that started so unpromisingly led to … “ I shrugged. “More.”

He gazed at me a moment, brow furrowed. It seemed less like an expression of suspicion than of recollection. I surmised that he, too, was trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together.

“I enjoyed myself more than I’d expected to,” he finally said. “The time we spent together was refreshing.”

“That’s still not a ringing endorsement for a love affair.”

“It was neither of those things.” He caught my puzzled expression. “I didn’t love her, Kathryn. And I never took her to bed. I wouldn’t have rushed into sex with a virgin, regardless, but—.” He shook his head, remembering. “You made Seven who she is. And the closer I got to her, the more she reminded me of you, in some ways.”

“A poor basis for a marriage,” I murmured.

“What?” he asked sharply.

“The admiral,” I made a gesture so ambivalent even I didn’t know what I meant by it. “She said you married Seven.”

“Not possible,” he declared definitively.

“No?” I was skeptical. “If she hadn’t come? If we were still out there, now? You and I hardly speaking? Seven wanting you, and no other prospects in sight?”

“Still a terrible idea. It would have ended in disaster.”

I thought of my older counterpart saying, “Seven’s going to die.” Chakotay hadn’t heard that, not from either version of me. “What makes you so sure?” I asked instead.

“Because the few times we kissed, all I could think of was you. I almost called her Kathryn the last time.”

“The last time?” I was prying. He would be entirely within his rights to shut me down. Part of me wished he would.

“Seven tried to break things off with me while the Admiral was on board. She’d said something to Seven to … dissuade her from our relationship.”

“I didn’t know that. But I can’t say it surprises me. What a manipulative—.”

“It made me furious.” He sat up suddenly and swung his legs off the bed, his back to me. “It’s not fair to tell you all this. You had nothing to do with it. With how I felt.”

“Didn’t I?” I murmured, half to myself. We let the silence hang.

He finally said, “My anger. It wasn’t only with the Admiral for interfering. Nor with Seven for letting her.”

“You were angry with me, too.” My voice was quiet. I’d known this, at some level.

He sighed heavily. “I didn’t want to be.”

“You had every right to be,” I observed. “All those years, keeping you at arms’ length, when we both knew there was … potential for more.”

He started shaking his head side to side. “That—. No, Kathryn. I’d accepted that. It was hard—so hard, sometimes. But it was necessary.”

“Then what? I don’t understand.”

He swung around to look intently at me. “Quarra. It changed us.”

I blinked. “Us? You weren’t on Quarra—not mindwiped, I mean.”

The pain that crossed his face then made me catch my breath.

“I wished I had been,” he choked out. “We would have found each other, I _know_ we would have. We could have—.” He swallowed, trying to get his breathing under control. “Seeing you with Jaffen. I was jealous, of course, but—you were so happy, so carefree, and I took that away from you.” He was in anguish.

My hand slid down his arm and I laced my fingers over the back of his hand. I brought our joined hands to my mouth and kissed his palm.

He continued. “I hoped, with time, we’d find our way back to normal. But then we lost Carey on the Friendship One mission, and—.”

I put my face in my hands, remembering.

“We’d lost people before,” he said. “But this time was different. We weren’t the same.”

“I pushed you away,” I acknowledged.

“I let you.”

“And Seven?”

A long silence and then a harsh sigh. “She let me feel needed. In the end, Kathryn, I guess that's what I need. To be needed.”

The ache in my chest grew sharper. I wrapped my arms around myself and felt him touch my arm.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I never stopped needing you. I stopped being able to show you. That was never your fault.”

“I don't think it was yours, either. I think it was the command.”

“Losing Joe Carey.” I took a breath. “Almost broke me.” I looked up at him and then had to look away again. “He always reminded me of you. I couldn't—after he died, so needlessly, on my orders. Not even for the ship. I couldn't resign, and yet I couldn't _bear_ —.

He finally shushed me, pulling me into his arms, rubbing my back. When I pulled away minutes later both our faces were wet.  

“We did our best, Kathryn. And now we're here. At least for tonight.”

With a crooked, watery smile, I nodded my agreement.

“What do you need right now?” he asked gently.

My eyes didn't leave his face. “You,” I murmured. “Only you.”


	5. I Never Imagined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter draws some phrases from _Full Circle_.

In silence, we lay down, spooned together so neatly I marveled that no one had planned us to fit just so: his knees behind mine, my head under his chin, his arm around my ribs just below my breasts. My bottom snug against the fold of his hips, his genitals a soft reminder of what we now were to each other: lovers, bared and sated, with no barriers between us for whatever time we could steal from the world outside.

As we settled into stillness, his quiet breathing was magnified in my awareness. His broad chest pressed against my back in gentle rhythm, and warm air from his nose barely stirred my hair.

My heart seemed to swell in my chest as the simple perfection and reality of this moment overwhelmed me.

In all the years I’d spent fantasizing about intimacy with this man—my love, now my lover—I had never pictured this contentment, this state of pure rest in his arms. My wonder at it overflowed, and my breath hitched.

He lifted his head to see my face. “Are you crying?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head “no,” but my breathing grew more ragged as he watched me. I brought his hand to my mouth, kissing its knuckles, and then I spread his warm palm over my heart. “Can you feel it?” My voice was wet and throaty.

He shuddered against me, breathing, and placed a tender kiss on my temple. After a time, he lay his head on the pillow again, then murmured into my hair, “I feel it, Kathryn.”

The glow in my chest spread, sensation reawakening. I was no longer sated. I craved—again, more—connection and completion with the one who held my heart in his hand, against his own flesh.

Slowly, I tugged his hand to slide down my chest, until he cupped a breast. His cock stirred against me, and I arched my lower back just slightly, an answering pressure from my lower body to his.

His hand on my breast found the nipple with thumb and forefinger, rolling it, making me suck in a breath, a hiss of pleasure that drew a rumble from his chest.

I needed to feel him under my hands, to taste him. I turned toward him and cradled his dear face, tear-streaked from earlier, beard stubble faintly scratchy on my palms. He was the most beautiful person. He was everything I would ever need. I would die if I ever lost him again.

I kissed him, and he groaned into my mouth, arms wrapped all the way around me, our legs tangling, bodies desperate to be closer together, closer than ever.

“I need you,” I muttered between kisses. “I want you.”

“I’m yours,” he said. “Always.”

“Make me yours, then,” I sighed, rolling onto my back, spreading myself open to him.

This time, I let him go as slowly as he cared to. He prepared me patiently, murmuring words of endearment and desire, stoking my arousal patiently and methodically. Every part of my body, forehead to feet, he kissed, stroked, sucked, or nipped, leaving me gasping, sighing, moaning with pleasure. Even then he took his time with my folds, my nub, my depths, all but worshiping my cunt until I was half out of my mind with raw lust, until nothing existed but its emptiness and hunger for the hard length that could fill it.

An orgasm sent me wailing with my thighs pressed to his ears, and then without a moment to catch my breath, two of his fingers were inside me, massaging, spreading, curling. Then three, driving into me with increasing force until I squirmed and begged for his cock, to be held down and taken.

By the time he finally, finally held himself over me, my knees spread wide and hooked in his elbows, his cock pressing into me, my entire being was molten with desire, soft and yielding, on the verge of incoherence. My fingers played along the line of his shoulders, as his eyes stayed fixed on my face, attentive to every flicker of expression. Panting quietly, I watched him watch me as he slowly nudged his way into me, deeper and deeper.

“Yes,” I breathed as he stretched me, filled me. “Yes.” There was no pain, just a delicious aching pressure that gradually set my hips rolling, seeking friction and release. As we arched into each other, pushing, throbbing, my head rolled to one side and he buried his face against my exposed throat, kissing it, moaning with each exhalation.

I writhed under him, already close to the edge again. “Hold me!” I pleaded, and then my legs were tight around his hips, his strong arms framing my head and shoulders, holding me together lest I fly apart.

I wrapped my arms around his back, clutching him to me every way I could. He was as deep as he could go; we were as close as we could be. All that remained undone was our mutual completion, and when I had that thought I suddenly craved his seed in my womb, seeking shelter and generation. “Oh!” I whined. “Chakotay! Please!”

“What, my love?” He breathed above me, rocking, pressing, filling me with every motion. “What do you need?”

“I need—I want your—oh _god please!_ ” My cries escalated, too garbled to convey anything but my raw lust for him. Then he shifted the angle of his thrust just slightly, and I tumbled over the precipice once more, thrashing, quaking, sobbing with ecstasy.

He didn’t follow. Instead, he kept going, relentlessly driving his cock into me. My peak ebbed, something like sanity gradually reforming itself in my mind, but everything else continued apace—his skin sliding on mine, his grunts and my whimpers, his sweat now dripping from his face onto my chest. He raised himself on straightened arms and spread my knees wider with his own as my legs relaxed.  

I lay below him almost unmoving, content for a long moment to be the passive recipient of his lovemaking. My eyes drifted closed and I stretched my arms over my head in languid bliss.

He stopped thrusting, and his chuckle made my eyes snap open. “Wore you out, huh?” He sounded almost smug.

I smiled up at him. “Just taking a breather.” Then I slowly tightened my inner muscles, squeezing his cock until he moaned. “Back to work, you,” I ordered in a sultry voice.

He grunted with surprise, and suddenly the mood shifted, growing charged and feral.

He growled, “You’re not in command here, Kathryn.”

My lips parted in thrilled shock at those words, that tone, from Chakotay.

His eyes glinted, black and lethal. He sat back on his haunches, pulling me with him by the hips, so that my upper body was draped from his lap, off balance and momentarily at his mercy. He began a slow pulsing rhythm, the sort intended to stoke a flame without setting the world on fire.

It was so tempting to lie back and let him run what remained of the show. I felt divine: sore and sticky and relaxed to the point of oblivion. But then I thought about the Yaris Nebula, and ten months of nothing but subspace comms, and decided we both deserved a more memorable end to this incredible evening.

“Stop,” I said. He stopped moving.

With a little maneuvering, I pulled myself free and rolled away from him. He watched me, still but far from patient, to judge by the glint of his eye and his continued arousal.

“I’m tired of looking at the ceiling,” I said. “I like the view from above much better.” With my hand in the center of his chest, I pushed until he lay back. There was nothing submissive, though, in his movement or posture. He all but vibrated with virile determination, and his hooded eyes as I straddled him seemed to warn me not to toy with him.

As I sank onto his cock, we both moaned. He gave me no time to adjust but immediately set a pace, his large hands holding me in place. When I began to flex and fall in sync with him, doubling the effects of his thrusts for both of us, we picked up speed, almost bouncing against one another.

“Kathryn,” he muttered, brow creased with concentration, small grunts following as I began to shudder and clench.

“Don’t. You. Come.” I warned, as the climax took me. My eyes screwed shut as my spine arched me backwards convulsively. He stopped thrusting, moaning as he fought for control.

As my muscles relaxed they turned to jelly, and I had to collapse onto his chest. Panting, I rolled away from him once more.

“Come back here,” he urged.

I landed on my stomach, turned my head to look at him, and with a crooked half-smile taunted him, “Come and get me, mister.”

He chuckled ominously, then gathered himself and was on me. His hands lifted and folded my hips so that my lower body was propped up on spread knees. He held back at the crucial moment, making sure the angle was right and I was ready to be entered again. It was, and I was, and in the end I surprised him by pushing back hard so that he sank into me deeply, all at once.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, then bent over me, elbows on the mattress, forearms and hands gathering me in, sheltering my whole being with his body over and around and inside of mine.

“Yes,” I urged. “Fuck me. Fuck me like you mean it. Give me something to remember.”

Then he was pounding into me, his control dissolving, giving himself over to the primal urge to take, fill, dominate. It lasted less than a minute, during which he sometimes swore, tangling a hand in my hair, pressing me down, and ended with his mouth on my neck, teeth pressed into my skin as he came with a sob, convulsing, still grappling to pull me further onto him.

I wished I could see his face. He’d come twice tonight and I hadn’t seen him at the moment of climax.

It took a minute for him to stop pulsing into me and then twitching as his body gradually relaxed and his breathing began to slow. He took and released a deep breath, then a moment later repeated it, and his weight on me increased substantially as he began to give in to post-coital stupor.

I shifted under him, and he sighed, then kissed the side of my face and rolled off me with a groan. I straightened my legs, stretched out long in satisfied pleasure, and then turned to face him. He was watching me with an expression that was equal parts triumph and awe.

“Memorable enough for you, oh mistress?” We both laughed.

“Oh hell, yes,” I assured him. “That last bit alone will fuel my dreams for a month.”

“Funny how you were on the bottom and still giving orders,” he remarked.

“Is it?” I shrugged nonchalantly. “You know how I am.”

He grinned then. “I do. But I bet next time we find ourselves in bed together, I can turn the tables on you.”

I ran a finger down his chest, then looked up at him from under my eyelashes, lower lip held in my teeth. “That sounds like a worthy goal,” I purred. “Just be sure to bring restraints. You’ll need them to keep me in line.”

A shocked silence followed, until he burst out laughing and pulled me close to him. We chuckled together, relishing the feel of our bodies pressed together along their full length, relaxing with gentle caresses, mouths brushing together now and again.

After a time, he started to speak. “I _never_ imagined—.” He stopped then and glanced away, blushing.

“Have I surprised you?” I asked, hesitantly curious.

“In good ways, yes.” He was stroking my body, from swell of breast to swell of hip and back again. “I knew you would be beautiful all over, but the reality—it’s even more incredible to be with you like this than I had imagined.”

I smiled, starting to undulate in time with his caresses. “Go on,” I encouraged.

“I suspected you’d be eager and adventurous, and you are. It’s how you live your life; it’s who you are.”

I swallowed, still smiling but also blinking away tears now.

“There,” he added, dropping a quick light kiss on each eyelid. “That’s another thing I hadn’t imagined.”

“That I’d be a big crybaby?” I said, lips trembling. He was so close, we were so open to each other. There was nowhere to hide my feelings, and they seemed to be taking full advantage.

“Ssshh,” he soothed me. “Not just your tears. Your laughter and playfulness. All of it. You’re so open to me now. I felt I knew you so well, and you had all of … _this_ … buried inside you the whole time.”

The dam burst. I hid my face against his chest, curling into him.

“I did,” I choked out. “I had to.” He held me, surrounding me with strength, holding me together. “I’ve been so _lonely_ , Chakotay.” I was shaking with the intensity of emotion his touch and his words had unleashed.

He murmured sweet soothing nothings to me, stroking my back and hair, until I calmed again. We remained there for a time outside of time, our own private eternal moment of oneness.

He said into the stillness, “Never again.” And then, sometime later, “Not while I draw breath.”

——-

When Decan’s call came, around 0200 hours, I was studying Chakotay’s sleeping face. As I acknowledged my shuttle’s departure time, he opened his eyes.

“I have to tell you something,” I told him quietly.

He drew a finger along my jawline. “What?” He was studying my mouth intently.

“Earlier, I said we’ll meet in Venice if nothing changes while you’re away.”

“Mm-hmm?” he murmured, seeming entranced by my lips.

“I’m altering the terms of our agreement.”

“How?” He drew me down until our foreheads met.

“No if. Nothing changes. No more lunches with divorced admirals for me, no fascinating women in the Yaris Nebula for you.”

I felt him smile as he took my mouth in a long and tender kiss that left me aching.

“When I get back,” he said with absolute gravity, “We’ll do this right. No more stolen nights. No more dreams of a future that might not happen.”

“We’ll do it right,” I agreed. “Duty be damned.”

——-

At 0255, Decan met me at the shuttle’s ramp, coffee in one hand, three PADDs in another, and a definite look of consternation on his face. “Admiral. I was about to scan for your comm badge and order a site-to-site.”

Decan couldn’t know that beneath my uniform my body held marks from my night of passion with Chakotay. But I wasn't fast enough to hide my silly grin behind the mug he gave me.

I, a decorated Starfleet admiral, as giddy as a schoolgirl. _All evidence to the contrary_ , I thought, flexing deliciously sore muscles that hadn’t been used in quite that manner for a very long time indeed.

Walking past him onto the shuttle, I said merely, “My apologies, Lieutenant. I was detained.”


End file.
